.■«• 














0' 






r^^ ..1^J^% '^^^ c^^ ,^.i;:% ^"o. .#^ .• -^^ ^^^ 








° ^^^^♦ 



V \ ■ 




.^ .: 








* rO 






&* aV "^ , 























/v. 



6577 



BOYS AND GIRLS O' MINE 



BOYS AND GIRLS 0' MINE 



* 



i' By 
jfw. FOLEY 



•*• 



BISMARCK, N. D. 

TRIBUNE, PRINTERS AND BINDERS 
1907 



7S 3?ii 



o/^ 



3^ 



j LIBRARY of CONtihESSJ 
Two Copies RMfcived 

DEC 18 1907 

Oopyn«nt Entry 



Copyrighted 1907 

by 

J. W. Foley 



To Mr. C. V. Van Anda 
of the New York Times 



HOMEFOLKS" EDITION 

This edition is limited to three hundred 
copies, of which this copy is numbered. 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The verses here collected appeared originally in 
the New York Times, Saturday Evening 
Post, Life, The Century and Collier's Weekly. 
Grateful acknowledgment is, made of the 
generous permission for their reprinting in 
this form. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Toast of Merriment 19 

Chums 21 

Girl of Mine 24 

Dear Little, Queer Little Man 26 

An Old Fashioned Girl 28 

The Town of Impossibieville 30 

A Pearl of Price 33 

We Aint A-Scairt o' Pa 35 

The Garden of Play 37 

The Gingercake Man 39 

Make Believe 41 

Lonesome 43 

Lines to a Baby Girl 46 

The Land of Blow Bubbles 48 

How Henry Blake Knows 50 

-The Playtime of Bachelor Bill 52 

The Lost Boy 54 

When They Love You So 56 

The Evolution of an Adoption 59 

Little Mischefuss 61 

On a Noiseless Fourth 63 

Echo of a Song 65 

A Little Love Story 67 

Grown Up? 69 

Somebody Did 71 

Lest I Forget 73 

In Vacation Time 76 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

So Lonesome Now 78 

After the Years 80 

The To3^s of Yesteryear 83 

Some Girls that Mamma Knew 8Sr 

What Mother Doesn't Know 87 

Conscious Ignorance 90 

Gone 92 

Song of Summer Days 94 . 

A Song of Motherhood 96 

The Neighbor's Boys 99 

Nervoustown 101 

A Quiet Afternoon 104 

A Modern Miracle 107 

Doughnutting Time 109 

The Secret 112 

The Delusion of Ghosts 115 

A Story of Self Sacrifice 117 

A Discouraged Kindergartner 120 

A Boy's Choice 123 

A Boy's Vacation Time 125 

The Despairing Muse 128 

The Way He Used to Do 131 

Billy Peeble's Christmas 133 

An Interrupted Preachment 138 

Graft and the Woman 140 

Vanity 143 

The Woes of the Consumer 146 

The Real Issue 148 

The Test of Fame 150 

The Chosen Ones 152 

War 154 

Aircastletown 156 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Really Pretty Girl 158 

Dreams 160 

A Providential Discovery 163 

The Death of Poetry 168 

The Last Appeal 171 



Boys and Girls o' Mine 



THE TOAST OF MERRIMENT 

r^ OOD humor! Let's have more of it; 
^-^ Let's spice the wine of life with wit 
The little day we tarry here 
Let flow the sunshine of good cheer. 
Find not in sober sense such zest 
We have no time for quip or jest, 
Nor o'er our tasks so roundly bent 
We drink no toast to merriment. 



Oh, you whose sober self all gowned 
With gloom, and who so oft has frowned, 
A smile could scarce find resting place 
Upon your worn and wrinkled face, 
Let loose a laugh, to tell the world 
Your heart's dried substance has not curled 
Like a wormed nut, to rattle in 
Your moldy shell of bone and skin. 



19 



THE TOAST OF MERRIMENT 

And you, whose soul is so engrossed 
With duns and dollars, drink the toast 
And let your honest laughter teach 
Your stunted sense the sweeter speech 
Of merriment. From your tired head 
Remove the gallows-hood of dread 
Lest you should miss a wage or fee 
And wear this cap and bells with me. 

A thousand years your mummied skin 
Will have no seed of laughter in, 
And in your sober grave find rest 
All undisturbed of quip and jest. 
Then be not sullen, sordid, dull, 
An ever-walking funeral. 
But laugh, for you and Laughter when 
You part may never meet again. 



CHUMS 

T T E lives acrost the street from us 

An' ain't as big as me ; 
His mother takes in washin' 'cuz 

They're poor as they can be. 
But every night he brings his slate 

An' 'en I do his sums, 
An' help him get his lessons straight, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



His clo'es ain't quite as good as mine, 

But I don't care for that ; 
His mother makes his face 'ist shine, 

An' I lent him a hat. 
An' every mornin', 'ist by rule. 

Wen nine o'clock it comes, 
He takes my hand an' goes to school, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



21 



CHUMS 



Nobody better plague him, too, 

No matter if he's small, 
'Cuz I'm his friend, for tried and true, 

An' 'at's th' reason all 
Th' boys don't dare to plague him, 'cu 

I 'ist wait till he comes, 
An' he walks clost to me, he does, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



He fell an' hurt hi'self one day 

Th' summer before last. 
An' 'at's w'at makes him limp 'at way 

An' don't grow very fast. 
So w'en I got a piece of pie, 

Or maybe nuts or plums, 
I always give him some, 'cuz I 

Get lots — an' we are chums. 



An' w'en it's nuttin' time, we go. 

An' I climb all th' trees, 

'Cuz he can't climb — ^he's hurt, you know- 
But he gets all he sees 

Come droppin' down, an' my ! he's glad ; 
An' w'en th' twilight comes 

He says w'at a fine time he had, 
'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



22 



CHUMS 

But my! his mother's awful queer; 

'Cuz w'en we're home again, 
She wipes her eye — a great, big tear — 

An' says : "God bless you, Ben ! 
Th' Lord will bless you all your days 
W'en th' great Judgment comes." 
But I say I don't need no praise, 

'Cuz him an' me is chums. 



23 



GIRL OF MINE 

f~\ H, her frock is crisp and white 
^-"^ And her hair is curled up tight 
To her roguish little head, just 

like an aureole of light, 
Not a heart but she could win 
With the ribbon at her chin 
And her cheeks that have such 

very little merry dimples in. 

Ah, the laughter in her eyes 

And the wondsr and surprise 

As she toddles through the waving 

grass in search of butterflies, 
And the flowers nod and sway 
In their love of her and say 
By their homage as she passes she's 

a fairer flower than they. 



24 



GIRL OF MINE 

Ah, the sweetness and the grace 

In her radiant little face 

As she scampers through the sunlight 

in her airy, fairy race ; 
How the roguish laughter trips 
From the gateway of her lips 
Like the lilting of the robin 

through the leafy bough that slips. 

And the birds in branches high 

Seem to join her merry cry 

And to chirp a fearless greeting as 

she gaily toddles by, 
And so light her footsteps fall 
That the clover blossoms call : 
"See! She stepped on us in passing 

but we're scarcely bruised at all !" 



25 



DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 

"pv EAR little, queer little man, 

With his hair all a tumble of curls. 
With a light in his eyes 
Like the blue of the skies 
When the dawn's rosy banner unfurls ! 
Sweet little, fleet little man, 
Who fills all the house with his toys. 
Whose laugh has the truth 
Of the heart of his youth : 
A toast to the health of our boys ! 



Dear little, queer little man. 

With a big, paper cap on his head. 

And a sword at his side 

As he gets up to ride 
On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red ! 
Play, little, gay little man ; 
Fill all of the house with your noise. 

For, oh, it were ill 

If your laughter were still ! 
A toast to the laughter of boys! 



DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 

Dear little, queer little man, 
With dreams of the future to be. 

When he shall grow tall 

And shall care for us all, 
His mother, his sister and me ! 
Brave little, grave little man. 

With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete, 

But bearing the seed 

That shall blossom and lead 
To manhood all gracious and sweet. 

Dear little, queer little man, 

Whose heart is so boyish and pure. 

May the sweetness and truth 

That are flowers of youth 
Through all of your being endure ! 
Play, little, gay little man ; 
Fill all of the house with your noise, 

For, oh, what so sweet 

As the pattering feet 
And the echoing laughter of boys? 

Dear little, queer little man. 

The light of the dawn's rosy beams 

Be evermore spread 

On your dear, curly head, 
And truth to your innocent dreams ! 
Blest little, best little man, 

God keep you as pure as the truth 

That lingers and lies 

In the light of your eyes : 
Long life to the heart of your youth ! 

27 



AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL 

JUST an old-fashioned girl, of the kind that you knew 
When your mother sat up to mend stockings for you 
With a ball of red yarn and a bag full of hose 
And a goose-eggish thing that slipped down in the toes. 
Just an old-fashioned girl, of the kind that brings 

tears 
To your eyes when you think of the toil of her years, 
And wonder however she laid every curl 
On a half-dozen heads — such an old-fashioned girl. 

Just an old-fashioned girl, of an age ere the flat, 
Or of winters in this place and summers in that. 
Of the kind that you knew when you went with bare 

legs 
In the days when you ransacked the manger for eggs. 
Just an old-fashioned girl in a blue gingham gown 
That is leading your fancy some forty years down 
On the pathway of years, till the hum and the whirl 
Of the day you forget with that old-fashioned girl. 



AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL 

Just an old-fasliioned girl of that out-of-date day, 
When you knew all the hymns and she found time to 

play 
On the organ in church, and you knelt with her there 
And repeated — what was it ? — ah, yes ! — 'twas a prayer : 
Such an old-fashioned thing, as you think of it now 
With the years writ in wrinkles on temple and brow ; 
But the years back there gleam with the lustre of 

pearl — ■ 
When you walked hand-in-hand with that old-fashioned 

girl 

Just an old-fashioned girl of those old-fashioned days. 
And she knelt in the night with a prayer that she'd 

raise 
Up a son to be manly and honest and true. 
There's a mound where the wild-flowers nodded and 

grew 
Ere the World bade you come, and a love that lies there 
With its heart in the dust, but its essence as rare 
As the breath of the rose and as pure as the pearl 
That shall tinge all your dreams of that old-fashioned 

girl. 



29 



THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE 

T LIVE in the town of Impossibleville — ^^a village ec- 
centric and nice, 
Where no matter how hot is the Midsummer day the 

iceman leaves plenty of ice ; 
The dairyman never once waters the milk, but leaves 

yellow cream in his wake ; 
The baker gives always a full loaf of bread and the 

butcher serves porterhouse steak; 
The coal man gives two thousand pounds for a ton, 

nor weighs up the man with his load, 
There isn't a lawyer, a judge or a court and the old. 

Golden Rule is the Code. 
It lies in the valley 'twixt Honesty Flats and the top 

of Millenium hill. 
And is peopled by poets and dreamers and such — is the 

town of Impossibleville. 



30 



THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE 

'Tis a wonderful place is Impossibleville, where there's 

never a scramble for pelf, 
And the rights of man's neighbor are valued as high 

as the rights that he claims for himself. 
No hand-organ man on the street ever grinds out his 

ancient, soul-harrowing tunes, 
Nor the man who must board haunted three times a 

day with small dishes of watery prunes ; 
There's only one church in Impossibleville and that's 

about all that it needs, 
Nor do people lose sight of the kernel of good in the 

chaff of their musty old creeds. 
It's just over there where the Golden Rule Heights 

overlook the green vale of Goodwill 
And it's peopled with folks it might please you to meet 

is the town of Impossibleville. 
The sewing society there never meets unless there is 

something to sew. 
Good deeds are the coin of the realm and no man but 

may settle in Millionaire's Row. 
The cider's all made from the ripest of fruit and open 

at bottom or top, 
The barrel of apples looks equally good for there's only 

one saleable crop. 
No matter what happens the cook never quits, nor ever 

was known one to scold. 
The weather is perfect the whole livelong year, nor 

ever too hot or too cold ; 
It's right over there 'twixt the town of Don't Fret and 

the top of Millenium Hill 
And is peopled with poets and dreamers and such— is. 

the town of Impossibleville. 
31 



THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE 

If you'd reach the cool shades of Impossibleville, you 
must start on your journey in Youth, 

Turn aside from the main-traveled road and set foot 
on the little used pathway of Truth, 

Pass on past the town of Fair Play and Don't Fret till 
you climb up the Golden Rule Heights, 

And then you may look down the vale of Good Cheer 
and see all of these wonderful sights ; 

But many have set out with hope and light hearts de- 
termined to reach this fair spot 

Who someway have strayed from the little-used path 
and are lost in the wastes of Dry Rot, 

But it's right over there 'twixt the town of Fair Play 
and the top of Millenium Hill, 

And it's peopled with poets and dreamers and such — is 
the town of Impossibleville. 



32 



A PEARL OF PRICE 

QHE isn't worth a fortune and she hasn't any stocks, 
Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and 
frocks. 

In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laugh- 
ing eyes, 

In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees 
and butterflies. 

But when she comes in tired from play and crawls 
upon my knee 

She's worth a hundred millions to her mother and to 
me. 



33 



A PEARL OF PRICE 

She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn't seem to 

care 
If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. 
She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips 
A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her 

lips. 
And when she puts her arms around my neck and 

goos in glee, 
She's worth uncounted millions to her mother and to 

me. 



And when she's in her crib at night and daintily tucked 
in 

The wealth of Croesus couldn't buy the dimple in her 
chin, 

And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a- 
boo. 

She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken 
' goo. 

And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will 
agree. 

She's a fortune, more than money, to her mother and 
to me. 



34 



WE AIN'T A-SCAIRT O' PA 

T T S boys ain't scairt o' Pa so much, 

He only makes a noise, 
An' says he never did see such 

Onmanageable boys. 
But when Ma looks around I see 

Just something long an' flat 
An' always make a point to be 

Some better after that. 



Pa promises an' promises, 

But never does a thing; 
But what Ma says she does she does, 

An' when I go to bring 
Her slipper or her hair brush when 

She says she'll dust my pants, 
I think I could be better then 

If I had one more chance. 



35 



WE AIN T A-SCAIRT O PA 

Pa always says nex' time 'at he 

Will have a word to say, 
But Ma she is more apt to be 

A-doin' right away; 
Pa turns around at us an' glares 

As fierce as he can look, 
But when we're out o' sight, upstairs, 

He goes back to his book. 

Ma doesn't glare as much as Pa 

Or make as big a fuss, 
But what she says is law is law, 

And when she speaks to us 
She's lookin' carelessly around 

F'r somethin' long and flat. 
And when we notice it, we're bound 

To be good after that. 

So we ain't scairt o' Pa at all, 

Although he thinks we are ; 
But when we hear Ma come an' call, 

No difference how far 
We are away we answer quick, 

An' tell her where we're at. 
When she stoops down and starts to pick 

Up somethin' long an' flat ! 



36 



o 



THE GARDEN OF PLAY 

UT in the Garden of Childhood gay 

Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries, 
Startling the birds with their boisterous play, 

Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. 
Ever you see them and hear them there, 
Morning or evening or blossomy noon, 
And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair, 
And oh, but the years of it pass too soon! 



Over the Garden arch cloudless skies, 

(Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!) 
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes 

Find in each nook something rare and new. 
Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees. 

Bidding them hide from the sun at noon, 
And oh, but what glorious days are these. 

And oh, but the hours of them pass. too soon! 



37 



THE GARDEN OF PLAY 

Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers, 

(Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!) 
Garlands they weave of the golden hours, 

Sweet with the song of the birds in air. 
Splashed all the earth with a rosy light. 

Light of the sun at its splendid noon, 
And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright. 

And oh, but the light of it dies too soon ! 



Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay 

Echo their calls and their merry cries, 
Startling the birds with their boisterous play; 

Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. 
Dips the red sun to its shadowed west. 

These are the years of mine afternoon, 
And oh, but the years of my youth were best, 

And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon! 



38 



T 



THE GINGERCAKE MAN 

HE Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough 
Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so! 
To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin, 
His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin ; 
They sifted him over with flour and spice, 
And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice. 
And took some dried currants, the biggest and best, 
To make him some buttons for closing his vest. 



The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that. 
When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat 
That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way, 
For a Gingercake man is not made every day. 
They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed! 
And made him some teeth out of caraway seed, 
And when he was finished they buttered a pan— 
The biggest they had — for the Gingercake man. 



39 



THE GINGERCAKE MAN 

Then into the oven they put him to bake 

Until he was hard and could stand and not break 

His legs when he stood ; and they set him to cool 

Until all the children should come home from school. 

And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee. 

When mother invited the children to see, 

All sifted with sugar and out of the pan. 

The good-natured face of the Gingercake man. 

But alas and alas! 'Tis a short life and sweet 
Is the Gingercake man's — for they ate off his feet, 
They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest. 
And picked all the buttons from out of his vest; 
They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat, 
And everything edible went just like that. 
Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan 
As all that is left of the Gingercake man ! 



40 



MAKE-BELIEVE 

T ET'S dream, like the child in its playing; 

Let's make us a sky and a sea ; 
Let's change the things 'round us by saying 

They're things that we wish them to be ; 
And if there is sadness or sorrow, 

Let's dream till we charm it away; 
Let's learn from the children and borrow 

A saying from Childhood — "Let's Play." 

Let's play that the world's full of beauty; 

Let's play there are roses in bloom ; 
Let's play there is pleasure in duty 

And light where we thought there v/as gloom 
Let's play that this heart with its sorrow 

Is bidden be joyous and glad; 
Let's play that we'll find on tomorrow 

The joys that we never have had. 



41 



MAKE-BELIEVE 

Let's play that regret with its ruing 

Is banished forever and aye ; 
Let's play there's delight but in doing; 

Let's play there are flowers by the way: 
However the pathway seem dreary, 

Wherever the footsteps may lead ; 
Let's play there's a song for the weary 

If only the heart will give heed. 

Let's play we have done with repining; 

Let's play that our longings are still ; 
Let's play that the sunlight is shining 

To gild the green slope of the hill ; 
Let's play there are birds blithely flinging 

Their songs of delight to the air ; 
Let's play that the world's full of singing, 

Let's play there is love everywhere. 



42 



LONESOME 
AY, little boy, be friends with me and I'll be friends 



S/\Y, little Doy, 
with you ; 



And I won't never tell on you, no matter what you do. 
It's awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it's 

hard 
To have your mother say that you must play in your 
back yard. 
There's lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as 

bright 
As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light; 
Perhaps you'd catch it in your cap if I would help 

you to — ■ 
Come over and be friends with me and I'll be friends 
with you. 



43 



LONESOME 

I'm all the children we have got — I'm lonesome as can 

be, 
I wish you wouldn't be afraid to come and play with me. 
I don't care if your face ain't clean or if your clothes 

are torn, 
I didn't have no clothes at all the time that I was 
born. 
We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost 

you so 
That you can get some if you come, and when it's time 
to go 
We'll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. 

Don't you see 
I'm willing to be friends with you if 3'ou'll be friends 
with me? 

I've got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be. 
But I want something that's alive to run around with 
me, 
And play wild Indians and bears, and if you'll come 

and play 
Perhaps my mamma '11 let me come and play with 
you some day. 
We've got some dandy hollow trees, the finest any- 
wheres. 
And one of us can hide in them when we are playing 
bears, 
And growl just like he's awful cross, and all the 

time you know 
It's only make-believe, of course, but then it scares 
you so. 

U 



LONESOME 

I wish you'd come and play with me. I've got a jump- 
ing jack 
I'll give you for your very own to keep when you go 
back, 
And you can ride my v'locipede most all the afternoon 
And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with 
my balloon. 
I've got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play 
That they are yours as much as mine for all the time 
you stay, 
I'm all the boys my folks have got. I'm lonesome as 

can be, 
Come on, and I'll be friends v/ith you if you'll be 
friends with me. 



45 



LINES TO A BABY GIRL 

/^H, she has such a way with her! 

I stay with her 
And play with her, 

Her cheeks are round and dimpled and 

Her eyes are Heaven's blue. 
My life is spent quite half with her, 
I laugh with her 
And chafif with her, 

Till she looks up with laughing eyes, 

And all she says is "Goo !" 

Sometimes I try to walk with her, 
I talk with her 
And rock with her ; 

She knows some way my love for her 

Is tender and is true. 
And so I sit and speak with her 
And seek with her 
The cheek of her 

To brush with little kisses and 

Quite all she says is "Goo!" 



46 



LINES TO A BABY GIRL 

She toddles in to share with me 

My chair with me ; 

Her air with me 

Is that of queen imperious, 
My heart her subject true. 

Upon the floor she lies with me 

And tries with me 

To rise with me 

When romping time is over, and 
She looks up and says "Goo !" 

Oh, she is such a part of me. 
The heart of me. 
And art of me 

Could not express my love for her, 

So tender and so true ; 
She is the treasure blessed of me, 
Heart's guest of me, 
The best of me, 

This little baby girl of me 

Who looks up and says "Goo !" 



47 



THE LAND OF BLOW-BUBBLES 

T T IS curls are like rings of red gold on his head, 

His lips are as red as a cherry, 
His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red; 

His eyes full of mischief and merry. 
His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, 

A fig for the whole of his troubles ! 
For he's my Boy Careless — you've seen him somewhere, 
And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles ! 



Now he's riding a stick that is legless and dead. 

Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles. 
For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head 

In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles ! 
He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath. 

With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, 
And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path 

For never a huntsman was bolder. 



48 



THE LAND OF BLOW-BUBBLES 

Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, 

He drops on one knee in the stubbles, 
For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased 

To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles ! 
His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, 

The sound of it echoes and doubles, 
For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes 

In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. 

Then out from the forest a savage all red 

With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, 
A thrust from the big wooden sword — he is dead 

With a most melancholy death-rattle. 
Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse. 

And back o'er the all-trackless stubbles, 
For it's many a mile to his cabin, of course, 

In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. 

Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride 

With the make-believe gun on his shoulder. 

With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side. 
And a sigh from the heart that is older ! 

A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, 
A fig for the whole of his troubles. 

When he's off like the wind on his make-believe trips 
• In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! 



49 



HOV/ HENRY BLAKE KNOWS 

T^ON'T you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for 

^^ true 

As you're born it'll rain right away if you do. 

For Henry Blake says oncet some boys 'at he knowed 

Were goin' a-fishin' an' one killed a toad, 

An' it all clouded up an' it got just as black, 

An' it thundered an' lightninged before they got back 

Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why. 

But he thinks toads has somethin' t' do with the sky. 

An' Henry Blake showed 

Us th' place in th' road 

Where the boys went an kilt him an' that's how he 
knowed. 



50 



HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS 

Henry Blake says if you just split a bean 
An' put half of it on a wart when it's green, 
An' throw half of it between midnight an' dawn 
In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart '11 be gone 
Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it's true 
'Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two 
That took off a big wart, an' th' half was all black 
An' Henry Blake says that it never came back. 

An' Henry's friend showed 

Him th' cistern he throwed 

The other half into an' that's how he knowed ! 



51 



THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 

/^UR Uncle Bill's a bachelor, an' it's an awful shame, 

'Cuz he knows stories about bears an' knows 
'em all by name. 
An' growls 'ist like a really one an' makes you think 

a bear 
Is underneath th' table, but of course it isn't there. 
An' when he takes you on his knee he talks 'ist like 

a book 
An' after w'ile your eyes get big an' you're a-scairt to 

look 
Wen he says : "Nen a bear come out an' 'ist went 

Boo-oo-oo !" 
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you. 

An' 'en he plays wild Indian an' hides himself some- 

wheres 
W'ile we look in th' corners an' behind th' parlor chairs, 
An' peek in th' dark closets an' p'tend we're on a scout 
Till after w'ile he makes a whoop an' 'en comes rushin' 

out 
'1st like he's on th' warpath ; an' us chinnern run up- 
stairs 
An' hide in mamma's closet an' he makes us think 'at 

benrs 
Are comin' in to get us an' he growls 'ist like he's one, 
An' my ! we're turble scairt an' yet it's awful lots o' fun. 
52 



THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 

An' 'en he is a pirate an' he makes us chinnern play 
'At we are in a shipwreck an' th' crew is cast away 
Upon a desert island w'ere his treasure chest is hid, 
An' we are only sailors an' his name is Captain Kidd. 
An' w'en we hear him comin' he 'ist roars an 'en we 

run, 
'Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an' pokers for a 

gun. 
An' after w'ile he kills us all but it don't hurt, an' w'en 
He sails away in his big ship we come to life again. 

'En after w'ile our mother comes an' taps him on th* 
head. 

An' says it's time for bears an' scouts an' things to be 
in bed, 

An' leads us chinnern all upstairs an' maybe if we 
keep 

Right still she'll let th' candle burn until we go to sleep. 

'En after w'ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good- 
night, 

An' sees how snug an' warm we are an' all tucked in 
so tight. 

An' 'en he kisses us good night an' 'en his eyes 'ist 
blur: 

I guess we make him sorry 'at he is a bachelor ! 



53 



THE LOST BOY 

T ITTLE Boy Careless has strewn his blocks 

From end to end of the nursery ; 
He has broken the top of the gaudy box 

That held sliced animals — My, Ah Me! 
His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred 

From battle with him, and his jumping-jack 
Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard, 

Nor all of my coaxing will get him back. 



Little Boy Careless has split his drum 

And bent the tube of his screeching fife 
Till all of his martial airs are dumb, 

And the doll that squeaked has lost her life 
From a mallet blow on her waxen head, 

And none of her sister dolls knows or cares 
How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread 

From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs. 



54 



THE LOST BOY 

Little Boy Careless has gone away 

And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me. 
The toys that were scattered on yesterday 

Are stored up there in the nursery. 
The broken drum and the jumping-jack, 

The waxen doll in her crib alone, 
Nor Little Boy Careless will e'er come back 

To scatter the toys by his years outgrown. 

And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries 

For the Little Boy Careless to come and play, 
The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes, 

With the toys that are gathered and laid away. 
The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine 

For the world out there and will yearn to go, 
But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine, 

And that is the reason I loved him so ! 



55 



WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 

/^ NE time I'm awful sick in bed, 
An' sometimes I'm delirious, 
'Cuz I got fever in my head, 

An' when I'm th' most serious 
My pa, he sits beside of me 

An' 'en he rubs my head, an' 'en 
He says when I get well, why, he 

Won't ever scold his boy again. 

An' 'en my ma, she rubs my head 

'1st burnin' hot, an' 'en her clpn 
'1st shivers an' she says : "Poor Ned ! 

His little hands so white an' thin !" 
An' 'en she says she never knew 

How precious 'ist a boy could be, 
An' when I'm well she's goin' t' do 

'1st what I want her to for me. 



56 



WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 

An' by and by my aunty comes 

An' says when I get well wny she 
Don't care if I have twenty drums, 

An' she will buy a sled for me. 
An' my big sister's goin' t' buy 

A really pony 'ist as quick 
As ever doctor says 'at I 

Am well again from bein' sick. 

An' even our old hired man 

Comes in an' stays a while with me, 
Whenever doctor says he can, 

'1st kind an' gentle as can be, 
'Cuz once he had a boy, an' 'en 

He had th' fever an' 'at's why 
He's awful kind to me an' when 

He sees me, why he starts t' cry. 

An' even teacher comes to see 

Me on her way from school, an' 'en 
She says it won't be hard for me 

When I come back to school again. 
'Cuz she won't make my lessons long, 

Or keep me after school ; an' she 
'1st wants me to get well an' strong 

An' 'en she stoops an' kisses me. 



57 



WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 

An' 'at's th' way you really know 

How much they love you, when your head 
'1st burnin' up an' you can't go 

Nowheres except to stay in bed. 
An' even if you're awful bad 

An' hot with fever, why, you know, 
It makes you feel 'ist sweet an' glad 

Becuz they all 'ist love you so 



58 



THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 

T_T E'S 'ist a little orfant boy 

Wat goes to school with me; 
An' ain't got any parents 'cuz 

His folks is dead, you see. 
An' w'en he sees my toys an' things — 

My, but his eyes 'ist shine; 
An' he ain't got no marbles, so 

I give him half of mine. 

An' once it 's orful stormy w'en 

It 's noon an' he can't go 
Back where he works for board an' clo'es 

To get his lunch, an' so 
I had some san'wiches an' things 

'At he thought was 'ist fine, 
An' 'cuz he didn't have no lunch 

I give him half of mine. 



59 



THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 

An' once w'en we went down to fish 

He come along with me, 
An' w'en we're there says he 'ist wish 

'At he could fish. You see 
He's orful poor an' brought a pole 

But didn't have a line, 
An' w'en I saw how bad he felt 

I give him half of mine. 

An' one time I 'ist told my Ma 

How he don't have much fun 
'Cuz he ain't got no Ma or Pa 

Or Aunt or any one. 
An' 'en I told her how I thought 

'At it would be 'ist fine 
'Cuz he ain't got no mother if 

I'd give him half of mine. 

He ain't my brother, really true. 

He 's 'ist an orfant, so 
My Ma she took him, 'cuz she knew 

He had no place to go. 
I'm awful glad we got him an' 

My Pa thinks it 'ist fine — 
He didn't have no mother, so 

I give him half of mine. 



60 



LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 

COMEBODY went and broke my doll, an' let her 

sawdust out 
On mamma's floor an' my! there's sawdust scattered 

all about ! 
Dess scandalous ! An' bienby my mamma '11 come an' 

say: 
"I see 'at Little Mischefuss has been around today!" 



An' sometimes w'en th' sugar bowl's lef open, she says 

'en: 
"I dess 'at Little Mischefuss has been around again !" 
An' my! I'm awful much surprised! an' ast how does 

she know, 
But she dess says a little bird flew in an' told her so ! 



One time somebody went, she did, and broke my jum- 

pin' jack 
An' mamma says : "I see 'at Little Mischefuss is back." 
An' w'en somebody spilled p'eserves right on the pantry 

shelf 
She says : "I see 'at Mischefuss has tried to he'p 

herself!" 



61 



LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 

One day somebody tored my dress an' 'en she says : "I 

see 
'At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be !" 
An' my! I'm awful much surprised an' ast how does 

she know, 
But she dess says a little bird flew in an' told her so ! 

Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an' 'en 'ey dot 

all wet 
An' all peeled off tuz why it rained an' mamma says she 

bet 
'At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown 
An' mus' be hidin' in th' house or else somew'eres 

aroun'. 

Oncet mamma's goin' 't spank her w'en she catches her, 

an' so 
I ast her not to tuz she's dess a little girl, you know, 
An' don't know any better 'an t' plague an' pester us. 
Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says I'm Little Mis- 
chefuss ! 



ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 

^~\ N a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a 

^"^^ screechless fife and headless drum, 

Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, 

all still and dumb, 
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle 

corps blew a noteless blare, 
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a 

fireless path through the silent air. 
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the 

crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout 
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the up- 
held standard fluttered out. 
'^Hurrah !" he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from 

his lips in a speechless way. 
"Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless 

Independence Day !" 



63 



ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 

Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun 
belched a soundless roar, 

A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a 
blareless tune once more; 

The clickless guns of the village guards with a thud- 
less sound dropped on the ground. 

The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless 
mob ranged all around ; 

A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps 
joined a footless screech, 

The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless 
strains of a wordless speech, 

Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless 
lad, in a voiceless way, 

Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noise- 
less Independence Day. 

Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the 

footless fifes and the headless drums. 
The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless 

pageant noiseless comes 
Down the village street, and the sightless glow when 

the hissless rocket's fireless glare 
With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the 

measureless breadth of the lightless air ; 
But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers 

popped and cannons roared. 
Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look 

of a lad who is greatly bored; 
And he cried aloud — 'twas the only sound that was 

heard, not made in a voiceless way : 
"Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless 

Independence Day!" 

64 



ECHO OF A SONG 

IT O my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture of the 

gloaming, 
Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the lilac and 

the rose ; 
With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting here 
and dreaming 
Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow memory 
flows; 
To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of 
woman's singing: 
I've a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are 
borne along; 
'Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love and 
crooning 
To her laddie such a 

Sleepy little, 

Creepy little, 

Song. 

Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark 
and ember 
The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhythmic 
sweep and slow ; 



65 



ECHO OF A SONG 

With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and 
tender, 
Floated forth that slumber anthem of a childhood 
long ago. 
There were goblins in the gloaming and the half-closed 
eyes went roaming 
Through the twilight for the ghostly shapes of buga- 
boos along; 
Now the sandman's slyly creeping and a tired lad half 
sleeping 
When she sings to him that 

Sleepy little, 

Creepy little, 

Song. 

I am sitting here and dreaming with the mellow lamp- 
light streaming 
Through the vine-embowered window in a yellow 
filigree ; 
On the fragrant air come winging vagrant notes of 
woman's singing; 
'Tis the slumber song of childhood that is murmur- 
ing to me. 
And some subtle fancy creeping lulls my senses half 
to sleeping 
As the misty shapes of bugaboos go dreamily along, 
All my sorrows disappearing, as a tired lad I'm hearing 
Once again my mother's 

Sleepy little. 

Creepy little, 

Song. 

66 



A LITTLE LOVE STORY 

SHE understands. I do not need to go 
And tell her she is all the world to me. 
I never speak a word to let her know 

I will be faithful till Eternity. 
But when, upon the way to school, she sees 

Me come with two red apples in m.y hands 
And hears me say: "Please, Sally Jane, take these,' 
It is no wonder that she understands. 



Or when she sees me at the old front gate 

With my new sled right after the first snow, 
And from her window calls to me to wait 

Until she asks her Mother can she go, 
I do not need to tell her why I come 

In my fur cap with mittens on my hands, 
For even if my feelings make me dumb 

She looks at me and then she understands. 



67 



A LITTLE LOVE STORY 

Or if she whispers something when in school, 

As children are quite often apt to do, 
Forgetting all about the teacher's rule, 

And teacher says to Sally : "Was that you ?' 
Why then I see how scared she is and rise 

Up in my seat and hold up both my hands 
And take the blame — she looks into my eyes — • 

I do not need to speak — she understands. 

Or if she has the measles so I dare 

Not go up to her house, but I can look 
In through the window and she sees me there. 

And if I bring a dandy story book 
And leave it on the fence post where the nurse 

Can come and take it in, and if my hands 
Have written, "Dear, I hope you'll be no worse," 

I do not need to speak — she understands. 

I do not need to tell her how I feel — 

She only has to watch the things I do ; 

She knows my heart is true to her as steel, 
And if it rains or if the sky is blue 

I wait for her to walk to school with me, 
' And carry all her schoolbooks in my hands, 

x\nd I am just as happy as can be, 

And so is she — because she understands. 



GROWN UP? 

T BEEN lookin' f'r some children 
^ Thet I used t' know ; 
Used t' see 'em in th' papers 

Twenty year ago ; 
Thought I used t' hear 'em playin' 

Right around my door; 
Have y' seen 'em — Riley's children? 

Don't they play no more? 

Say, but them was really children; 

An' I used to read 
About Annie — Orfant Annie — 

An' I often seed 
One of 'em, I thought, a-singin' 

Right around my door ; 
But I haven't seen 'em lately — 

Don't they sing no more? 



GROWN UP? 

W'y- I've set an' read about 'em 

An' it almos' seemed 
They was yourn or mine, a-mebbe, 

But I mns' 'a' dreamed. 
An' I thought I see one standin' 

With her dress all tore, 
An' her golden hair all tangled — 

Don't they play no more? 

W'y o' course — I wasn't thinkin' — 

They're all growed up now, 
It was years ago I knowed 'em, 

But it seems, somehow. 
Them 'ud alius be but children ; 

Might a-knowed afore 
Thet them children — Riley's children- 

Won't come back no more ! 



70 



SOMEBODY DID 

OOMEBODY stood up right on top of a chair 

An' reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up there, 
Wen nobody's lookin' an' Mamma's asleep, 
An' all of us chinnern wuz playin' bo-peep 
Now'eres near the pantry; an' tryin to get 
Some cookies, an' someway the jar got upset. 
An' my ! it 'ist busted all over the floor. 
But John, he ain't scairt ; an' he rapped on the door, 
Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
An' 'en he says : ''Ma, see w'at Somebody did !" 

An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 

'Cuz we don't know who done it — but Somebody did ! 



71 



SOMEBODY DID 

Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair 
By the lib'ary table w'at stood over there 
Wen we wuz a-playin' now'eres near the ink 
An' Mamma was sewin' — an' w'at do you think? 
Somebody upset it and knocked it, 'st Chug ! 
Right off'n the table an' down on the rug, 
An' my! it 'ist busted an' runned everyw'eres. 
But John, he ain't scairt ; an' he runned right upstairs, 
Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 
An' 'en he says : "Ma, see w'at Somebody did !" 

An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 

'Cuz we don't know who done it, but Somebody did ! 

An' wunst w'en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so clean, 

The floor wuz 'ist shiny as ever you seen. 

An' we wuz all playin' outdoors in the street, 

Somebody went in with the muddies' feet 

An' tracked it all over the floor, 'ist a sight ; 

An' my! when we seen it we 'ist shook with fright, 

'Cuz none of us chinnern went near it all day. 

But John, he ain't scairt ; an' he went right away. 

Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid. 

An' 'en he says : "Ma, see w'at Somebody did !" 

An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 

'Cuz we don't know who done it — but Somebody did ! 



72 



LEST I FORGET 

"lirHEN from my earliest abode in boyhood's merry 

days I strode, 
Oh, well do I remember how my mother came — I see 

her now — ■ 
And, standing in the old front door, repeated to me 

o'er and o'er : 



"Oh, William, don't do this and that, and William, wear 

yonr other hat. 
Please, William, don't forget my note, and William, 

wear your overcoat. 
And William, hurry on your way, or you'll be late 

to school today." 
And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to 

my ear 
Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I 

forget. 



10 



73 



LEST I FORGET 

When from my lessons, shirked or done, came home- 
ward I at waning sun, 

Oh, well do I remember how my mother came — I see 
her now — • 

And greeted me at that front door with admonitions 
o'er and o'er : 



"Oh, William, don't do this and that, and wipe your 

feet upon the mat. 
And do not slam the door and wake the baby, William, 

and please take 
This package down to Howe and Hatch and tell them 

that it doesn't match, 
And don't forget to hurry back, because the kitchen fire 

is slack ;" 
And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to 

my ear 
Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I 

forget. 



I'm married now — at man's estate, and yet, quite mourn- 
ful to relate. 

My wife it is who, as before, comes with me to the new 
front door. 

And standing there, bombards me for a block or two, 
and o'er and o'er: 



74 



LEST I FORGET 

"Oh, William, don't you wet your feet, and William, 

don't forget the meat, 
And William, don't forget to mail my letter promptly, 

and don't fail 
To pay the ice bill, order wood ; and William, would 

you be so good 
As to stop in at Jones' store and get a bit of ribbon 

for 
The baby's hair?" — and so 'tis yet — lest I forget — lest 

I forget! 



75 



IN VACATION TIME 

'X* HERE'S a hole in his hat with the hair sticking 

through, 
And a toe that peeps out from a hole in his shoe ; 
There's a patch in his trousers, a darn in his hose, 
And a freckle that tilts on the bridge of his nose; 
But oh, in his heart there's the glimmer and shine 
Of a sun that I wish could be shining in mine. 

There's a smudge on his face that is dusty and dark, 
But a song in his heart like the song of a lark; 
There's a rent in his coat where the lining shows 

through, 
But the whistle he tunes to the wild bird is true ; 
And, oh, in his heart, with a sparkle like wine. 
Is a gladness I wish could be sparkling in mine. 



76 



IN VACATION TIME 

There's an imp in his hair that may keep it awry, 
But a twinkle so rare in the blue of his eye ; 
There's an uneven slant of his trousers, made fast 
With a nail through their tops, for a button won't last; 
But deep in his heart lies a spring cool and fine 
Of good cheer that I wish could be bubbling in mine. 

There's a tan on his cheeks where the flush of health 

glows, 
And the skin has all peeled from the tip of his nose ; 
His pockets are bulged with tops, marbles, and strings. 
With jack-knives and other uncountable things; 
But the brooks and the woods bring a music divine 
To his ears that I wish they were bringing to mine. 



77 



so LONESOME NOW. 

r\ VER t' Henry Murray's, why, 
^■^^ They always had lots an' lots o' pie, 
An' toy automobiles an' v'locipedes 
An' walkin' toys, like a fellow reads 
About sometimes, but he seldom sees, 
An' swings out under th' big oak trees. 
An' childurn a-playin' on every bough — 
But my! It is turrible lonesome now. 

Over t' Henry Murray's, why. 

His mother an' father 'ist seemed t' try 

An' see if they couldn't get some new toys 

For Henry an' all of us other boys 

'At played with him ; an' she used t' make 

Th' dandiest currant an' raisin cake. 

An' boys 'ist flocked there like flies, somehow- 

But my ! It is turrible lonesome now. 



78 



so LONESOME NOW 

Over t' Henry Murray's, why, 
His mother 'ud see you goin' by 
An' ast you why you didn't come an' play 
With Henry an' all of his toys, some day, 
An' every Christmas she'd have a tree 
With presents, th' finest you ever see, 
An' nobody got forgot, somehow— 
But my ! It is turrible lonesome now. 

An' over t' Henry Murray's, why, 
We boys 'ist look while we're goin' by, 
An' see all his toys layin' there outside. 
Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an' cried 
An' says he don't care— it was 'ist too bad, 
'Cause Henry was all of th' boy they had. 
An' th' swings 'ist hang from th' big oak bough- 
An' my! It is turrible lonesome now. 



79 



AFTER THE YEARS 

"\1 rHEN you went back to the old home place had the 

mountain become a hill? 
Had the raging river your boyhood knew shrunk down 

to a peaceful rill? 
Were the monster trees in the old front yard but half 

of their former size? 
Was something gone — and you don't know what — from 

the blue of the arching skies? 
Was the swimming-hole but a muddy pool where once 

it was crystal clear? 
Were the apples but half as big and red as they were in 

that other year? 



80 



AFTER THE YEARS 

When you went back to the old home place did the red 

barn seem so small 
It didn't look like the one you'd known? Was the 

mighty waterfall 
That used to roar in your boyish ears but a little dash 

of spray 
That fell so light you could hardly hear a dozen feet 

away? 
Were the corn rows only half as long as they were in 

the long ago, 
When you measured them with aching arms and the 

weight of a heavy hoe? 

When you went back to the old home place had the 

mill pond dwindled down? 
Was Main Street only a muddy track in the heart of a 

sleepy town? 
And the well that was fathoms, fathoms deep, with its 

wheel and creaking chain. 
Did it seem to you like a shrunken thing when you 

looked at it again? 
Was something gone of the bygone days, from the sod 

and the arch of sky 
That we used to see when we played as boys in the 

old days — you and I? 



11 



81 



AFTER THE YEARS 

Nay, Heart, the mountain rises high as it did of yore ; 

the rill 
Was a river once and the boys near by see a raging 

river still. 
The well is fathoms, fathoms deep and the apples ripe 

and red ; 
The sod is cool and green and soft, and the sky up 

overhead 
Is blue and clear, and the days are rare and glad as 

they used to be — 
But where is the Heart of the olden time — hast thou 

brought it back with thee? 



82 



THE TOYS OF YESTERYEAR 

"pRAY, where are the toys of the Yesteryear: 
^ The jnmping-jack with its flaring red, 
The fuzzy dog and the antlered deer, 

The drum with its sticks and tuneful head, 
The Noah's ark with its wooden crew. 

The building blocks with the letters on ? 
The child has toys that are bright and new, 

But where, pray where, have the old friends gone? 



Somewhere in the attic in corner dark 

The jumping-jack and the split drum lie. 
The wooden crew of the Noah's ark 

And the tin of the battered infantry. 
There, half by the rubbish and dust concealed, 

The fuzzy dog and the wooden deer, 
The building blocks with their colors peeled 

Half oflf ; and the stringless top is here. 



THE TOYS OF YESTERYEAR 

Pray, where are the toys of the Yesteryear, 

The gaudy dreams with their colors gay, 
The castled hopes that were passing dear. 

The joys of our boyhood's merry play? 
The man has toys that are bright and new, 

On the wreck of dreams new dreams appear. 
But where are the hopes of the flaring hue 

That were our toys of the Yesteryear? 

Somewhere in the darkness the dead dreams fade, 

The broken idol and shattered vase, 
The castled hopes in their ruins laid 

Come here to a common trysting place. 
Half hid by the rubbish and dust of days 

The wrecks of unnumbered dreams are here 
That made us glad in a hundred ways, 

And these are the toys of the Yesteryear. 



84 



SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 

ly/r Y Mamma says 'at once 'ere was 
A little girl she knew 
Who went an' cried, an' 'ist because — 
Because she wanted to; 
An' w'ile her face was all askew 
The wind changed, so they say, 
An' Mamma told me 'at it 's true, 
Her face 'ist staid 'at way! 

An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I said I'll never cry again. 

My Mamma said 'at once she heard 

A little girl like me 
Tell 'ist one fib, an' says, my word ! 

Her Mamma looked to see 
Were was her tongue, an' goodness me ! 

Her mouth was 'ist all bare, 
An' w'ere her tongue 'ud ought to be 

There wasn't any there ! 

An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I said I'll never fib again ! 



85 



SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 

My Mamma knew a little girl 

'At used to run away 
Wen her dear mother 'd start to curl 

Her hair; an' one fine day 
Some gypsies took her off, somehow, 

An' stole her from her home, 
An' my ! Her hair is awful now, 

'Cause gypsies never, comb ! 

An' since she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I never runned away again ! 

An' never don't make fun, she says. 

Of folks 'at's blind or lame. 
Or got red hair or warts, unless 

You want to be the same. 
'Cause lots of times it happens so 

An' surely if you do. 
You never, never, never know 

What's going to happen you. 

An' since she told me 'at, w'y nen 
I never don't make fun again. 



WHAT MOTHER DOESN'T KNOW 

COMETIMES w'en I got to pile wood in the j^ard, 

'1st wringin' with sweat 'cuz I'm workin' so hard 
An' see all the neighbors' boys startin' to fish, 
I can't hardly work any more, an' I wish 
'At I wuz a-goin' an 'en right away 
I run an' ast Ma if I can't go today, 
An' she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run 
Off an' fish 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 

You must work while you work, 

You must play while you play 

An' 'en you'ii be happy for many a day" 

An' mebbe it's so. 

But my goodness ! to go 

With the boys 'at's gone fishin' ! — I guess she dunno ! 



87 



WHAT MOTHER DOESN T KNOW 

Sometimes w'en I got to hoe garden an' hear 

The boys playin' ball in the next lot, so near 

I hear 'em all cheerin' an' see 'em all score, 

I can't hardly stand it to hoe any more. 

So 'en I ast Ma if I can't go an' play 

An' promise to hoe twict as much the next day, 

But she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run 

Off an' play 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 

You must work while you work, 

You must play while you play 

An' 'en you'll be happy for many -a day" 

An' mebbe it's so, 

But, my goodness ! to hoe 

W'en you hear 'em a-playin' ! I guess she dunno. 

Sometimes w'en the snow gets all piled up so deep 

On the walk 'at she tells me to go out 'an sweep 

It all off, an' Sam Russell comes by with his sled. 

My broom 'at I'm usin' gets heavy as lead. 

An' I can't hardly sweep, an' I ast Ma if I 

Can't go out a-slidin' an' sweep by an' by, 

But she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run 

Off an' slide 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 



88 



WHAT MOTHER DOESN T KNOW 

You must work while you work, 

You must play while you play 

An' 'en you'll be happy for many a day" 

An' mebbe it's so, 

But to have to sweep snow 

Wen the boys are a-slidin' ! — I guess she dunno. 



12 



CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 

I'M only 'ist a little girl, 
An' w'en I want to play 
An' Mamma says don't go outside 

Our yard this livelong day, 
An' w'en some other girls 'ey come 

An' pester me to go, 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young. 
How does she s'pose I know ? 

An' 'en w'en she goes out sometimes 

An' says : "Now go to bed 
At eight o'clock this very night." 

I 'member what she said. 
But w'en the mantel clock strikes eight 

An' I don't want to go,. 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young, 

How does she s'pose I know? 



go 



CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 

An' w'en she says : "Now, don't go near 

The cookie jar this day," 
I want some cookies awful much 

An' try to stay away. 
But all the time I'm hungry for 

Some cookies, an' I go — • 
It may be wrong, but I'm so young, 

How does she s'pose I know? 

Fm only ist a little girl 

Not more 'n six years old, 
An' my, I always try to do 

E'zactly as I'm told. 
But w'en I make 'ist one mistake, 

My Ma ought not to go 
An' punish me, 'cause I'm so young. 

How does she s'pose I know? 



91 



GONE 

TT E fell in a puddle and muddied his dress, 

He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess; 
He cut sister's curls with a big pair of shears 
And left ragged edges down over her ears; 
He muddied the floor that was just scrubbed so clean, 
He lighted a match near the canned gasoline, 
He broke all his soldiers and smashed all his toys, 
And yet we forgave him, for boys will be boys. 



He singed the cat's whiskers and cut ofif his tail 
And then turned it loose with its discordant wail; 
He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chair 
And thought of it only when Aunty sat there ; 
He sheared the pet poodle one midwinter day, 
His father is frantic, his mother is gray. 
His Aunt and his Grandma protest at his noise. 
And then all forgive him, for boys will be boys. 



92 



GONE 

He clamors for cookies, for jelly and jam, 
He shuts ne'er a door, but he gives it a slam, 
He dabbles in paint, be it red, blue or green ; 
He loves to play hob with the sewing machine ; 
And then — well, he's gone into trousers and vests. 
For years must be passing and time never rests, 
And some day we look at a picture — and then 
We wish — strange it is — that we had him again. 



93 



SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 

QING a song of hollow logs, 

Chirp of cricket, croak of frogs, 
Cry of wild bird, hum of bees, 
Dancing leaves and whisp'ring trees; 
Legs all bare and dusty toes, 
Ruddy cheeks and freckled nose, 
Splash of brook and swish of line, 
Where the song that's half so fine? 

Sing a song of summer days, 
Leafy nooks and shady ways, 
Nodding roses, apples red, 
Clover like a carpet spread ; 
Sing a song of running brooks, 
Cans of bait and fishing hooks. 
Dewy hollows, yellow moons. 
Birds a-pipe with merry tunes. 



94 



SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 

Sing a song of skies of blue, 
Eden's garden made anew. 
Scarlet hedges, leafy lanes. 
Vine-embowered sills and panes; 
Stretch of meadows, splashed with dew, 
Silver clouds with sunlight through, 
Cry of loon and pipe of wren. 
Sing and call it home again. 



m 



A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 

OEW, sew, sew! For there's many a rent to mend; 

There's a stitch to take and a dress to make, 
For where do her labors end? 
Sew, sew, sew ! For a rent in a dress she spies. 
Then it's needle and thread and an aching head 
And see how the needle flies ! 

Brush, brush, brush ! For there's many a boy to clean, 
And start to school with a slate and rule, 

With a breakfast to get between. 

Comb, comb, comb ! In the minute she has to spare. 
For what is so wild — unreconciled 

As the wastes of a youngster's hair? 



96 



A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 

Sweep, sweep, sweep ! Oh, follow the flashing broom, 
And witn towel bound her forehead round 

She goes from room to room. 

Dust, dust, dust ! As down on her knees she kneels, 
For there's much to do in the hour or two 

Of interval 'twixt meals. 

Bake, bake, bake! For the cookie jar piled high 

But yesterday in some curious way 
Is empty again, O my ! 
Stir, stir, stir, in the froth of yellow and white, 

For well she knows how the story goes 
Of a small boy's appetite. 

Scrub, scrub, scrub ! For the floor that was spick and 
span, 

Alas, alack ! has a muddy track 
Where some thoughtless youngster ran. 
Splash, splash, splash! For the dishes of thrice a day 

Are piled up high to wash and dry 
And put on the shelves away. 



13 



97 



A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 

Patch, patch, patch ! And oh for a pantaloon 

That would not tear or rip or wear 
In the course of an afternoon ! 
Patch, patch, patch ! And see how the needle flies, 

For a mother knows how the fabric goes 
Where the seat of trouble lies. 

Toil, toil, toil ! For when do her labors end, 
With a dress to make and a cake to bake 

And dresses and hose to mend? 

Stew, stew, stew ! Fret and worry and fuss, 
And who of us knows of the frets and woes 

In the days when she mothered us? 



98 



THE NEIGHBOR'S BOYS 

C OMEBODY shot our cat's eye out, 
*^An' stole our gate an' just about 
Scared Aunt Sophia Jane to death 
So's she could hardly get her breath 
By puttin' on some sheets, all white, 
'At just gave her a turble fright, 
An' who on earth do you suppose 
Put on them big, white ghostes' clothes 
An' made that turble screechy noise?— 
The neighbor's boys! 



An' every night it's dark, you know, 
Somebody plays some tick-tack-toe 
On folkeses' windows what's a-scared, 
An' just as if they never cared 
If they get caught or not, an' when 
You're gone to bed they come again 
Until you're just so nervous you 
Don't hardly know just what to do; 
And who makes such a scary noise? 
The neighbor's boys. 



99 



THE NEIGHBOR S BOYS 

An' 'en somebody tears your clothes 
An' skins your face an' hurts your nose 

Until it bleeds, an' then your Ma 

Says 'at she never, never saw 
Such heathen youngsters, an' they come 
An' break your sled an' pound your drum 

Until it busts, an' wont go 'way. 

It ain't no matter what you say, 

An' they're the ones 'at break your toys- 
The neighbor's boys. 

An' my, it's funny, 'cause, you know, 

You ain't the only ones 'at's so. 

'Cause all the next door neighbors say 
It seems e'zactly the same way, 

An' when their boys gets hurted so's 

It gives 'em turble bloody nose. 
An' some one shoots their cat's eye out, 
An' plays tick-tack, they know about 
Who does it an' who makes the noise — 
The neighbor's boys ! 



100 



NERVOUSTOWN 

/^H, there's never a noise in Nervoustown ; 

^^^ Not the cry of a youngster ; and up or down 

There's never a cheer or a whistle shrill ; 

Just silence, like that of the grave, so still ; 

The horses trot with a muffled tread, 

But the place seems lonesome and drear and dead, 

For a cloth-bound head and a nervous frown 

Are all you may see in Nervoustown. 

Sh-h ! you must walk with noiseless tread 
For there's many a hot and aching head ; 
The doors are closed and the blinds are down, 
For it must be dark in Nervoustown. 
And you mustn't whistle or shout or cheer 
Or slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 
Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frown 
Poke out at you from Nervoustown. 



101 



NERVOUSTOWN 

Oh, there's never a person there but goes 

On the ver}' tip of his tippy-toes ; 

Nor ever a lad has heard at all 

Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball ; 

It's much as your life is worth to yell, 

The flowers can't grow for the camphor-smell ; 

While a big policeman, up and down, 

Cries "Sh-h !" through the streets of Nervoustown. 

And a little boy, who didn't know. 

Once years and years and years ago. 

Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day 

For something or other, I can't say, 

And they snipped his head ofif— Oh ! Oh! Oh! 

With big, red, rusty shears, you know. 

And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down, 

With gladness all through Nervoustown. 



102 



NERVOUSTOWN 

But, oh, it's gloomy in Nervoustown, 

With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down, 

Where the frightened lad his whole life goes. 

On the very tips of his tippy-toes, 

Where the hens don't cluck and the birds don't sing. 

And even the church bells dare not ring 

Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown 

Poke out at them from Nervoustown., 



103 



A QUIET AFTERNOON 

l\/r Y Mamma, she did go to call about an hour ago, 
An' said if I ain't bad at all an' staid at 

home with Flo, 
Which is the maid that cooks for us, she'd bring me 

something good. 
But if Fm one bit misschefuss she didn't think she 

would. 



An' my! Fm still, 'ist like a mouse. I never went out- 
doors., 

But 'ist sat down, inside the house, an' took her bureau 
drawers 

An' emptied 'em 'ist .one by one, an' w'en they're emp- 
tied 'en 

I 'ist looked through what's there for fun an' put 'em 
back again ! 



104 



A QUIET AFTERNOON 

An' 'en I found the nicest ink, an' one of 'em was red, 
An' one was black an' 'en I think I spilt some on the 

bed, 
But my ! I wiped it up 'ist so, an' sopped it with a quilt 
So clean you wouldn't hardly know it's ever once 

been spilt. 



Well, 'en I looked up on the shelf an' found her scissors 

there 
An' got 'em down all by myself an' cut off all my hair, 
'Tuz I don't think it's nice for girls like me 'at's almost 

through 
First reader to wear such a curls like Mamma makes 

me do. 



'En Flo gave me some bread and jam, 'tuz I 'ist cried 
and cried 

'1st tuz I'm hungry now, I am, an' 'en I went inside. 

An' maybe I did let it lay around the room some- 
where, 

'Tus Flo came in to watch me play and squushed it on a 
chair. 



14 105 



A QUIET AFTERNOON 

An' after while I wish my Ma would 'ist come back, 

she would, 
Tuz my, I'm gettin' drefful tired of simply bein' good. 
My eyes, 'ey're 'ist so full of sand an' heavy, 'ist like 

lead, 
Oh-ho! I dess it's Sleepyland! I dess I'll go to bed! 



106 



A MODERN MIRACLE 

(~\ NCE w'en I'ln sick th' doctor come 
^■^^ An' 'en I put my tongue 'way out, 
An' he says, "H-m-m ! Nurse, get me some 

Warm water, please." An' in about 
A minute, w'}^ she did an' 'en 

He put a glass thing into it 
An' 'en he wiped it off again 

An' put it in my mouth a bit. 

'En after w'ile he took it out 

An' held it up w'ere he could see. 
An' 'en he says, "H-m-m ! '1st about 

Too high a half of a degree." 
An' 'en Ma asked him if I'm bad 

An' he says "Nope !" 'ist gruff an' cross 
'An says "W'y you can't kill a lad. 

An' if you do it ain't much loss !" 



107 



A MODERN MIRACLE 



An' 'en she's mad an' he 'ist bust 

Out laughin' an' he says, "Don't fret 
He's goin' t' be all right, I trust. 

W'y he ain't even half dead yet." 
An' 'en he felt my pulse, 'at way, 

An' patted me up on my head 
An' says ''There ain't no school today, 

'Cuz one of th' trustees is dead !" 



An' my, I'm awful sorry w'en 

He told me that. An' 'en he said 
"He'll be all right by noon." An' 'en 

He went away. An' Ma says "Ned, 
How do you feel?" An' 'en, you know, 

Since Doctor told me that, somehow, 
I'm awful sick a while ago. 

But, my ! I'm almost well right now ! 



108 



DOUGHNUTTING TIME 

Wl unst w'en our girl wtiz makin' pies an' dough- 
nuts — 'ist a lot — 
We stood around with great, big eyes, 'cuz we boys 

like 'em hot ; 
An' w'en she dropped 'em in the lard they sizzled 'ist 

like fun. 
An' w'en she takes 'em out it's hard to keep from 

takin' one. 



An' 'en she says : "You boys '11 get all spattered up 

with grease, 
An' biumby she says she'll let us have 'ist one apiece ; 
So I took one for me an' one for little James Mc- 

Bride, 
The widow's only orfunt son 'at's waitin' there outside. 

An' Henry, he took one 'ist for himself an' Nellie Flynn, 
'At's waitin' at the kitchen door an' dassent to come in 
Becuz her mother told her not, an' Johnn}^ he took two, 
'Cuz Amy Brennan likes 'em hot, 'ist like we chinnern 
do. 



109 



DOUGHNUTTING TIME 

'En Henry happened 'ist to think he didn't get a one 
For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater's son, 
Who never gets 'em home becuz he says he ain't quite 

sure 
But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkeses are too 

poor. 

An' 'en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs 
'At fell way down his stairs one day an' give him 

crooked legs, 
'Cuz Willie always seems to know w'en our girl's goin' 

to bake, 
He wouldn't ast for none — oh, no ! But, my ! he's fond 

of cake. 

So I went back an' 'en I got another one for me 

Right out the kettle, smokin' hot an' brown as it could 

be, 
An' John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own to 

Clare, 
An' w'en our girl, she looked, there wuz 'ist two small 

doughnuts there ! 



110 



DOUGHNUTTING TIME 

M}' ! She wuz angry w'en she looked an' saw 'ist them 

two there. 
An' says she knew 'at she had cooked a crock full an' to 

spare, 
She says it's awful 'scouragin' to bake an' fret an' fuss, 
An' w'en she thinks she's got 'em in the crock they're 

all in us! 



Ill 



THE SECRET 

q^HERE'S a little word called "Sweetheart"; it's 

as old as heaven's blue ; 
»Tis the sweetest word e'er spoken and its joy is ever 

new ; 
It was Love's first murmured message, spoken in the 

ears of Love, 
When the Earth took shape from nothing and the blue 

sky arched above; 
It has come through Time unmeasured ; it has lived 

unnumbered years ; 
It was born of smiles and laughter and has dried 

Grief's countless tears ; 
It's the magic soul of Music and the living fire of Art, 
And I've chosen it to give thee — just that little word — 

"Sweetheart." 



112 



THE SECRET 

Ah, the aching hearts and heavy it has bidden hear and 

smile ; 
It has bidden Youth be merry and has cheered the 

Afterwhile 
Of the years to peace and gladness and the dreary days 

and long 
Are forgotten in the glory of its whispered evensong. 
It has made the heart go leaping of the schoolboy at 

his play ; 
It has filled with gladder dreaming all the sunshine 

of his day; 
It has bridged world-sundered chasms and has played 

the noblest part 
In the life and strife of being — just that little word — 

"Sweetheart." 

It has cheered the eve of battles ; it has fired the Heart 

of Dawn ; 
It has braved the mouth of cannon and has borne war's 

banners on ; 
It has lured the soldier Deathward, where the scarp 

was red and steep; 
It has trembled like a blessing on tTie ashen lips of 

Sleep; 
It has hushed the cry of children; it has fired the souls 

of men, 
Beaten back on shores of Failure to be bold and strong 

again ; 
In the hermit's cloistered silence or in Traffic's busy 

mart. 
It is of all, in all, through all — just that little word. 

"Sweetheart." 
15 113 



THE SECRET 

And forever and forever through the endlessness of 

Time, 
It shall hallow song and story and shall be the soul 

of rhyme ; 
It shall be a part of Being, much as heartbeat, much as 

breath, 
It shall be the joy of living and the overthrow of 

Death ; 
So I bid thee kneel and listen till I whisper thee the 

key, 
Till I tell thee why is Labor, Life, Love, Death, and 

Mystery; 
Hut or palace, serf or master, clod or genius, toil or 

art, 
It is of all, in all, through all — just that little word 

"Sweetheart." 



114 



THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 

OOMETIMES when I got to do errands at night 
*^ An' th' moon is all dark an' th' aint any light, 
An' th' wind, when it blows, makes a shivery sound, 
An' everything seems awful still all around ; 
Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes "Woo-oo-oo-oo !" 
My legs feel so funny; I'm all goose-flesh, too. 
An' maybe I'm startled when I hear it call, 
But I ain't a bit scairt ; I'm thes' nervous, that's all. 



Oncet me an' Joe Simpson wuz walkin' one night 

A' past th' old graveyard, an' saw somethin' white 

'Et looked like a ghost, standin' right in th' road, 

An' my, Joe wuz scairt ! 'Cuz he said 'et he knowed 

It wuz surely a ghost; an' I wisseled, becuz 

When you wissel you scare 'em ; an' all that it wuz 

Wuz a great, big, white cow ; an' it thes' walked away, 

An' I wuzn't no more scairt 'n if it wuz day ! 



115 



THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 

'Cuz I don't b'lieve in ghosts, an' I'd thes' as lieve go 
A' past any graveyard an' walk awful slow, 
An' wissel, an' sit on th' top of th' fence, 
'Cuz th' aint any ghosts if you got any sense. 
An' when we saw that big white thing by th' road 
'Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn't. I knowed 
All th' time it's no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz 
I knowed what it wuzn't, but not what it wuz ! 



116 



A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 

T) OP took me to the circus 'cause it disappoints me so 
To have to stay at home, although he doesn't care 
to go; 
He's seen it all so many times, the wagons and the 

tents ; 
The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants ; 
This morning he went down with me to watch the big 

parade. 
He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn't to have 

staid, 
He said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he 
Went down and watched it coming was because it's new 

to me. 

Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he 

says : 'T guess 
You want a glass of lemonade, of course," and I says : 

'"Yes." 
And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank 

his he 
Told me he drank it only just to keep me company; 
And then he says, "The sideshow is, I s'pose, the same 

old sell. 
But everybody's goin' in, so we might just as well," 
He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me. 

117 



A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 

Well, by and by we both came out and went in the 

big tent, 
And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges' elephant 
With chains on his front corner and an awful funny 

nose 
That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people 

throws ; 
And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose 

around 
Until it found most every one that he threw on the 

ground ; 
He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Stayed there and threw 'em was because it was all new 

to me. 



Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest tune, 
And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open 

pretty soon ; 
So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to me : 
"I guess we'll get some reserved seats so you will sure- 
ly see." 
And then some lovely ladies came and stood there on 

the ground. 
And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran 

around ; 
Pop said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he 
Looked at the ladies was because it was all new to me. 



118 



A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 

Well, finally it's over, but a man come out to say 
That they're going to have a concert, and Pop said we'd 

better stay; 
He said they're always just the same and always such 

a sell, 
But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might 

as well. 
Then by and by we're home again, and Mamma wants 

to know 
What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, "The same 

old show," 
And said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he 
Had stayed and seen it all was 'cause it's all so new to 

me. 



119 



A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 

' T S mornin' mamma told me 
'At I mus' be awful dood, 
'Tuz I'm startin' on my schooldays 

An' I promised her I would. 
But I'm awful much 'scouraged 

'Tuz I tried so hard to det 
All the lessons teacher gave me, 

But I tant read yet ! 

My ! it's awful long till dinner, 

An' I couldn't hardly wait 
Wen I dot done wif my letters 

An' I wrote 'em on my slate. 
An' I'm 'shamed to tell my mamma 

'At I dess sne'll have to let 
Me go back again tomorrow, 

'Tuz I tant read yet. 



120 



A DISCOURAGED KINDKRGARTNER 



She'll be awful disappointed, 

'Tuz I've been there half a day, 
An' she'll think I didn't study 

Or it wouldn't be that way. 
But I don't s'pose I tan help it, 

An' it does no dood to fret, 
'Tuz I've been to school all mornin' 

An' I tant read yet. 

I dess our teacher's stupid, 

'Tuz she didn't seem to care 
Wen I went right up an' told her 

Were she's sittin' in her chair, 
'At I'm awful much 'iscouraged 

An' my mamma she would fret 
'Tuz I've been to school all mornin' 

An' I tant read yet. 

An' 'en she started laugum', 

'1st as true as I'm alive, 
An' ast how old I am, an' 'en 

I told her half past five. 
An' 'en she tame an' tissed me, 

'Tuz my eyes are dettin' wet. 
An' told me not to worry 

'Tuz I tant read yet. 



16 121 



A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 

I dess if she had Mother Goose 

She'd be 'isturbed herself, 
If she 'ud go an' det it 

Down f'm off th' lib'ry shelf, 
An' 'en vv'en it is open, 

I dess she's apt to fret 
If she's been to school all mornin' 

An' she tant read yet ! 



122 



A BOY'S CHOICE. 

T 'D ruther take a w'ippin' an' a scoldin' any day, 

'Cuz a w'ippin' makes you tingle, but you go right 
out an' play, 
An' after w'ile you're over it an' 'en at dinner, w'y. 
Your mother's awful sorry an' she brings a piece of pie 
An' says she hates to do it, 'cuz it hurts her 'ist as bad 
As it does anybody w'en she w'ips her little lad. 

An' 'en at night she kisses you an' puts you into bed 
An' tucks the covers in an' says you're Mamma's Tur- 

ly-head. 
An' my! she's 'ist so lovely! An' she sits beside of you 
'1st 'cuz she feels so sorry over w'at she had to do. 
An' 'en she leaves the candle burn an* says for you to 

call 
If you want anything from her, an' you ain't scairt at 

all! 



123 



A BOY S CHOICE 

But w'en you get a scoldin' she don't never bring you 

pie, 
Becuz you'll surely break her heart ; an' 'en she starts 

to cry; 
An' my! you feel so sorry, an' you wisht she wouldn't, 

'cuz 
It shows you how you've grieved her an' how turble 

bad you wuz. 
An' all day long she never smiles ; an' w'en .you go 

to bed 
She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly- 

head. 



An' sometimes you see big, w'ite things a-lookin' at 

your bed, 
'At makes you scairt an' pull the covers up above your 

head, 
An' 'en you s'pose how would you feel if Mamma wuz 

to die, 
An' biumby you feel so bad 'at you 'ist start to cry. 
So w'en she looks at you so hurt an' talks to you 'at 

way — ■ 
I'd ruther take a w'ippin' 'an a scoldin' any day! 



124 



A BOY'S VACATION TIME. 

T T AIL, that long awaited day 

-^ -*• When, the school books laid away, 

All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn from pages 

back to play ! 
Done with lesson and with rule, 
Done with teacher and with school. 
Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempting 

wood and pool ! 

Who will tell in rune and rhyme 
Of the glory and the grime 

In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy's vacation time? 
Hark, the whistle and the cry 
That is piping shrill and high 

From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously 
bvf 



125 



A BOY S VACATION TIME 

Say, did sun e'er brightly shine 

As when, with his rod and line 

Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear 
and fine ! 

Sweet the murmur of the trees. 

And what glory now he sees 

In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bum- 
ble-bees ! 

Hear the green woods cry and call. 

Through the Summer to the Fall, 

"We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome for 

you all !" 
Hear the lads take up the cry, 
With an echo, shrill and high : 
"We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time is 

nigh !" 

How the skies are blue and fair. 

How the clover scents the air 

With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare! 

How the blossoms bud and blow. 

And the great waves flood and flow 

In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro ! 



126 



A BOY S VACATION TIME 

Ah, my heart goes back and sighs 

When the piping calls and cries 

From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of 

triumph rise ! 
And I would that rune and rhyme 
Might be splendid and sublime 
In my heart to tell the story of a boy's vacation time ! 



127 



THE DESPAIRING MUSE. 

COMEBODY has stolen the old garden gate, 
*^ The millwheel has gone to decay, 
The old oaken bucket is missing of late. 

It must have been taken away. 
The little red school house is wrecked and torn down 

Neglected its sad ruins lie, 
The moths have quite eaten up grandmother's gown, 

The old swimming hole has gone dry. 

Somebody has taken the old trundle bed, 

And broken the old cookie jar. 
The old milking stool in its wreckage is spread 

Out there where the chopping blocks are; 
The old lilac bushes that grew in the yard 

Are pulled up and missing somehow ; 
Ah me, but the prospect is bitter and hard. 

For what shall we write about now? 



128 



THE DESPAIRING MUSE 

The old rustic bridge is a wreck by the brook, 

They've paid off the mortgage, I see. 
Whose trials and tears have filled many a book. 

And cut down the old apple tree ; 
The old dry goods box at the grocery store 

Is split into kindlings at last, 
The day of the Neighborhood Poet is o'er, 

His verses are things of the past. 

The old log and dead that was there by the creek 

Has fallen down into the stream, 
No more may we sit there and patiently seek 

To weave the old days in a dream ; 
The old attic bedroom's a thing of the past. 

The old iron pump is no more. 
And here by the kitchen we stand quite aghast : 

They've pulled up the old cellar door ! 



17 129 



THE DESPAIRING MUSE 

The old cottage organ is hopelessly lost, 

The rain barrel's gone to decay, 
The old stepping stones we so frequently crossed 

Somebody has taken away. 
They've rebuilt the house, so old-fashioned and queer, 

And butchered the old brindle cow ; 
Ah, Muse, let us go ! We are not welcome here ! 

But what shall we write about now? 



130 



THE WAY HE USED TO DO 

C OMETIMES when I come in at night 

And take my shoes off at the stair, 
I hear my pop turn on the light 

And holler: "William, are you there?" 
And then he says : "You go to bed — 

I knew that stealthy step was you." 
And I asked how and then he said : 

" 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 

Sometimes when I come home at six 

O'clock and hurry up my chores. 
And get a big armful of sticks 

Of wood and bring it all indoors, 
My pop he comes and feels my head 

And says: "You've been in swimmin' — you 
When I asked how he knew he said : 

" 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 



131 



THE WAY HE USED TO DO 

Sometimes before a circus comes, 

When I'm as willing as can be 
To do my chores, and all my chums 

They all take turns at helping me, 
My pop, he pats 'em on the head 

And says: "You like a circus, too?" 
When I asked how he knew, he said: 

"'Cause that's the way I used to do." 

And lots of times when he gets mad 

Enough to whip me and declares 
He never saw another lad 

Like I am — well, at last he spares 
Me from a whipping and he lays 

His rawhide down : "I can't whip you 
For that, although I should," he says, 

" 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 



132 



BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS 

"D ILLY PEEBLE, he ain't got no parunts — never had 

-*^ none, 'cause 

When he's borned he was an orfimt ; an' he said 'at 

Santa Claus 
Never didn't leave him nothin', 'cause he was a county 

charge. 
An' the overseer told him that his fambly was too 

large 
To remember orfunt children ; so I ast Ma couldn't we 
Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so's to see our 

Christmas tree. 
An' she ast me if he's dirty ; an' I said I guessed he was, 
But I didn't think it makes no difference with Santa 

Claus. 



133 



BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS 

My his clo'es was awful ragged ! Ma, she put him in 

a tub 
An' she poured it full of water, an' she gave him such 

a scrub 
'At he 'ist set there an' shivered; an' he told me after- 

wurds 
'At he never washed all over out to Overseer Bird's ! 
'En she burned his ragged trousies an' she gave him 

some of mine ; 
My ! she rubbed him an' she scrubbed him till she al- 
most made him shine, 
Nen he 'ist looked all around him like he's scairt for 

quite a w'ile, 
An' even w'en Ma'd pat his head he wouldn't hardly 

smile. 

'En after w'ile Ma took some gunnysacks an' 'en she 

laid 
'Em right down at the fireplace, 'ist 'cause she is afraid 
Santa Claus '11 soil the carpet when he comes down 

there, you know ; 
An' Billy Peeble watched her, an' his eyes stuck out — 

'ist so! 
'En Ma said 'at in the mornin' if we'd look down on the 

sacks 
'At they'd be 'ist full of soot where Santa Claus 

had made his tracks ; 
Billy Peeble stood there, lookin' ! An' he told me after- 

wurds 
He was scairt he'd wake right up an' be at Overseer 

Bird's. 

134 



BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS 



Well, 'en she hung our stockin's up an' after w'ile she 

said : 
"Now, you an' Billy Feeble better go right off to bed. 
An' if you hear a noise tonight, don't you boys make a 

sound, 
'Cause Santa Claus don't never come with little boys 

around !" 
So me an' Billy went to bed, an' Billy Feeble, he 
Could hardly go to sleep at all — 'ist tossed an' tossed. 

You see 
We had such w'ite sheets on the bed an' he said after- 

wurds 
They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird's. 

So we 'ist laid an' talked an' talked. An' Billy ast me 

who 
Was Santa Claus. An' I said I don't know if it's all true, 
But people say he's some old man who 'ist loves little 

boys , 

An' keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an' heaps 

of toys 
W'ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers 

for his steeds, 
An' comes right down the chimbly flue an' leaves 'ist 

what you needs. 
My ! he's excited w'en I told him that ! An' afterwurds 
He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird's. 



135 



BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS 

I'm fallin' pretty near asleep w'en Billy Feeble said; 
"Sh-sh! What's that noise?" An' w'en he spoke I 

set right up in bed 
Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below, 
An Billy Feeble, he set up an' 'en he said: *'Le's go!" 
So we got up an' sneaked down stairs, an' both of us 

could see 
'At it was surely Santa Claus, 'ist like Ma said he'd be ; 
But he must heard us comin' down, because he stopped 

an' said : 
"You, Henry Blake an' William Feeble, go right back 

to bed !" 



My goodness, we was awful scairt ! An' both of us was 

pale, 
An' Billy Feeble said up stairs: "My! Ain't he 'ist a 

whale !" 
We didn't hardly dare to talk and got back into bed 
An' Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his 

head, 
An' in the mornin' w'en we looked down on the gunny 

sacks, 
W'y sure enough we saw the soot where he had made 

his tracks. 
An' Billy got a suit of clothes, a drum, an' sled an' 

books, 
Till he 'ist never said a word, but my! how glad he 

looks I 



136 



BILLY FEEBLE S CHRISTMAS 

'Ell, after w'ile it's dinner time an' Billy Feeble set 
Right next to Pa, an' my ! how he 'ist et an' et an' et ! 
Till he 'ist puffed an' had to leave his second piece of 

pie 
Because he couldn't eat no more. An' after dinner, 

w'y, 
Ma dressed him up in his new clo'es, an' Billy Feeble 

said 
He's sorry he's an' orfunt, an' Ma patted Billy's head, 
W'ich made him cry a little bit, an' he said afterwurds 
Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird's. 

An' all day long Fa looked at Ma an' Ma she looked at 

him, 
Because Fa said 'at Billy looked a little bit like Jim 
'At was my baby brother, but he died oncet, years ago, 
An' 'at's w'y Billy Feeble makes my mother like him so. 
She says 'at Santa brought him as a present, 'ist instead 
Of little Jim 'at died oncet. So she 'ist put him to bed 
On Christmas night an' tucked nim in an' told me after- 
wurds 
'At he ain't never goin' back to Overseer Bird's. 



137 



AN INTERRUPTED PREACHMENT 

T AM very tired of Money — in the abstract sense, of 

course, 
Though, my feelings notwithstanding, I appreciate its 

force ; 
But the thought comes to me sometimes that I'd hke to 

end my ills 
In some place there were no dollars, duns, debts, checks, 

drafts, notes or bills; 
I've supreme contempt for riches — all I want is what I 

need. 
For a half way decent living, but this madness gone 

to seed 
That would garner fruit of millions other men may 

have — not I^ 
Just excuse me for a minute — there's a dollar going by. 



138 



AN INTERRUPTED PREACHMENT 

I've no hungering for millions, for I know that wealth 

has wings, 
Though I'm frank to say that money will buy lots of 

pretty things ; 
But this never-ending struggle just to get a dollar more 
To a man of my convictions is an everlasting bore; 
And the current weekly wonder as to what will be my 

,share 
In the scramble after dollars almost drives me to de- 
spair. 
For a lodge in some vast wilderness, quite moneyless, I 

sigh- 
Just excuse me for a minute — there's a dollar going by. 

I'm aware it's inconsistent to go out and bring it in, 

But somebody else would get it, so it hardly seems 
a sin; 

And the fact is that I need it, as a concrete essence 
which 

Will enable me to dine with all the splendor of the 
rich ; 

But the abstract dollar fills me with no feeling but dis- 
gust, 

And I only go and chase it because Wisdom says I 
must ; 

I would preach a little longer, but, alas, the pitcher's 
dry 

And I think I hear the jingle of a dollar going by. 



139 



GRAFT AND THE WOMAN 

IT ERE I sit in anger turning pages over ! I am burn- 
ing with my rage and stirred with yearning to go 
out and battle graft, 
For from what I have been reading all the country lies 

a-bleeding and the cause of right is needing Men to 

meet the arts of Craft; 
And my wife in peace is leaning back and idly magizin- 

ing, and with accents full of meaning I address her, 

for I vow 
Some new tale of graft she's reading; but she says: 

"I guess that's beading over plain lace edge is 

leading in the fashion books just now." 



140 



GRAFT AND THE WOMAN 

Then I read a little longer and the tale of graft grows 
stronger. Ah, my Country how they wrong her with 
their dark and sinful deeds ! 

And I seek to interest her in my Country's needs and 
vest her with this knowledge and arrest her rapt 
attention as she reads. 

And I say : "This revelation of the sapping of the Na- 
tion is creating a sensation — have you read the tale, 
my dear?" 

But she answers : "Madame Bounce is of opinion and 
announces that the olden style of flounces will 
come in again next year." 

Then again I turn to musing : Is my country really los- 
ing ground? Are sinful men abusing what our 
fathers cherished so? 

Is the sun of honor setting when our statesmen are 
forgetting all the oaths they swore and letting graft 
stalk idly to and fro? 

And again to her I'm speaking : "Here's a revelation 
reeking with dishonor — ah, the sneaking thieves, 
their crimes should cost them deitr!" 

But she says : "The Modern Hatter says that bonnets 
will be flatter and the firm of Click & Clatter have 
some Paris fashions here." 



141 



GRAFT AND THE V/OMAN 

"Madame," said I, "just a minute! Here's a tale with 
sorrow in it— sorrow for the shame and sin it so 
distressingly relates ; 

Will you listen while I read it? Will you give me ear? 
Indeed, it is enough to make hearts bleed, it is all 
full of names and dates." 

Then I read it with dramatic voice that swells from 
roof to attic, with an ardor democratic, and my 
heart was in my words ; 

And she murmured as I ended that the milliners intend- 
ed to use bows of ribbon blended with the plumage 
of rare birds ! 



142 



VANITY 

A T five a maiden's wants are few 
"^^~^ A set of blocks, a doll or two ; 
A little place inside to play 
If it should come a rainy day; 
A pair of shoes, a pinafore; 
I really think of nothing more. 

Nor wants she overmuch at ten ; 
A birthday party now and then, 
A bit of ribbon for her hair, 
A little better dress to wear. 
Perhaps a pony cart to drive — 
A bit more than she did at five. 



A modest increase at fifteen; 
A party dress, in red or green, 
A room alone that she may fix 
With bric-a-brac and candlesticks, 
A parasol, a fan — and, oh ! 
I quite forgot to add — a beau. 



143 



At twenty she is quite above 
All childish wants — she asks but love, 
And dreams of Princes, tall and fair, 
Who come a-wooing and who dare 
All dangers; and she keeps apart 
For him the castle of her heart. 

At twenty-five her fancy goes 
To bonnets, frills, and furbelows, 
A country place, a house in town, 
A better rig than Mrs. Brown 
Or Black or Jones, and just a wee 
Small figure in Society. 

At thirty — well, a little tea 
For the distinguished Mrs. B., 
Who writes — a Prince to entertain, 
A long-haired Lion to make vain 
With silly tricks, a horse show box 
And just a little plunge in stocks. 

At thirty-five and forty — well 
There isn't much that's new to tell; 
A little bigger country place, 
A real good lotion for the face, 
And some reduction made in those 
One can afiford to say she knows. 



144 



VANITY 

At fifty — does her fancy end? 
She wants — ah, yes, she wants a friend 
To prove her years were not in vain ; 
She wants those dreams of youth again. 
When Princes-errant, tall and fair. 
Lived, loved, and came a-wooing there. 

At seventy she wants to know 
Why Vanity and hollow show 
Tempt Wisdom from its lofty seat. 
She wants but ease for gouty feet. 
And peace to wonder what must be 
The last leaf's musings on the tree. 



19 



145 



THE WOES OF THE CONSUMER 

T 'M only a consumer and it really doesn't matter 
How they crowd me in the street cars till I couldn't 

well be flatter; 
I'm only a consumer and the strikers may go striking 
For it's mine to end my living if it isn't to my liking. 
I am only a consumer and I have no special mission 
Except to pay the damages. Mine is a queer position, 
The Fates unite to squeeze me till I couldn't well be 

flatter 
But I'm only a consumer, so it really doesn't matter. 

The baker tilts the price of bread upon the vaguest 
rumor 

Of damage to the wheat crop, but Em only a consumer 

So it really doesn't matter, for there's no law that com- 
pels me 

To pay the added charges on the loaf of bread he sells 
me. 

The ice man leaves a smaller piece when days are 
growing hotter 

But I'm only a consumer and I do not need iced water, 

My business is to draw the checks and keep in a good 
humor 

And it really doesn't matter, for I'm only a consumer ! 



146 



THE WOES OF THE CONSUMER 

The milkman waters milk for me; there's garlic in my 

butter 
But I'm only a consumer, so it does no good to mutter. 
I know that coal is going up and beef is getting higher 
But I'm only a consumer and I have no need of fire. 
And beefsteak is a luxury that wealth alone is needing, 
I'm only a consumer and I have no need of feeding. 
My business is to pay the bills and keep in a good 

humor 
For I have no other mission, since I'm only a consumer. 

The grocer sells me addled eggs ; the tailor sells me 

shoddy 
But I'm only a consumer and I am not anybody. 
The cobbler pegs me paper soles; the dairyman short 

weights me, 
I'm only a consumer and most everybody hates me. 
There's turnip in my pumpkin pie and ashes in my 

pepper, 
The world's my lazaretto and I'm nothing but a leper, 
So lay me in my lonely grave and tread the turf down 

flatter, 
I'm only a consumer and it really doesn't matter. 



147 



THE REAL ISSUE 

'T^ HERE are two issues, after all, 

Above the ones that speech may call 
Or wisdom utter; 
Two issues that with me and you 
Are most important — and the two 
Are bread and butter. 



Let patriotic banners wave, 
Let economic speakers rave; 

'Tis not potential 
That Art proclaim or Music sing, 
The Loaf is, after all, the thing 

That's most essential. 



148 



THE REAL ISSUE 

Truth seeks some broader meeting place 
For breed or clan or tribe or race, 

For saint and sinner ; 
But after all the noise and fuss 
The issue paramount with us 

Is — What for dinner? 



New theories we may evolve, 

Old governments we may dissolve, 

New flags float o'er us, 
And Truth may search and Wisdom think, 
Still these two planks of meat and drink 

Are yet before us. 

So let contention hotly wage 
And let the wars of logic rage 

In discourse fretted ; 
When all the clamor is complete 
The issue still is what to eat — 

And how to get it ! 



149 



•THE TEST OF FAME 

T DO not yearn for splendid fame — 

A little share will do for me, 
And in the busy mundane game 

Of life, I'd simply like to see 
The time, when, seeing me in print, 

Folks would look at my name again. 
And, glancing up from it, just hint 

Of me : "Oh, yes, I knew him when — " 

It really isn't much to ask, 

And yet it is a splendid test 
Of those, more fortunate, who bask 

In smiles Fate gives those she loves best. 
If when my name, perchance, was read. 

Some good soul would arise and then 
Not speak some fulsome praise — instead 

Just say : "Oh, yes, I knew him when — " 



150 



THE TEST OF FAME 

I really wouldn't care, you know, 

Just when I had been known before, 
Or whether I'd been shoveling snow 

Or peddling ice or keeping store. 
Just so, whene'er my name was heard 

Through some creation of my pen, 
Some listening person might be stirred 

To say: "Oh, yes, I knew him when — ' 

So all I ask of fickle fame 

Is this, I think, quite modest boon. 
I do not ask a brilliant flame. 

That lights the world, but dies so soon; 
I only ask that some fine day 

Those sweetest words of tongue or pen 
Old friends of mine be moved to say 

Of me: "Oh, yes, I knew him when—" 



151 



THE CHOSEN ONES 

'T^HAT fellowship of genius, unconstrained 

Of place or riches; nor its precincts gained 
Of loud alarum; for a brazen gate 
Thick-metaled, bids the wanderer await 
Until the sacred password is approved 
By Him who loveth art for art beloved. 

Nor ever ringeth false upon His ear 

That magic word that bids the gate swing clear, 

The moated ditches close, the drawbridge fall, 

The sentinels move harmless on the wall, 

The feast be spread, the laureled wreath be wove, 

For him who bears the signet-ring of Love. 



152 



THE CHOSEN ONES 

Not any soul discordant at the feast, 

Not any greatest one or any least, 

But all of common stature, having sipped 

The cup whose golden sides have dripped and dripped 

With the rare wine of Song, whose vineyards lie 

Where the clear blue of the Parnassian sky 

Dips down to earth to lift the souls of men 

That fell from Heaven back to Heaven again. 

And in that din and clamor I await 

The message that He sends who guards the gate. 

To bid me come within or bid me lay 

My dreams aside and .diligently stray 

By field and stream and under the blue sky. 

Seeking the truth afar with eager eye. 

Through many a sleepless night and weary day 

To serve with patience, suffer, learn, and pray, 

Until I gain the Secret, and the gate 

Shall be flung wide and those great souls await 

To welcome me, who, like me, unafraid. 

Untiring, patient, at the altar laid 

Their offerings once and once and once again, 

And once a hundred times, and more; till then 

They learned that patience was the word that bade 

The gate swing wide and waiting souls be glad! 



20 153 



WAR 

T T NANGERED columns hurled upon a foe; 

^ Blood guiltless souls made gory at a word; 

Cheeks drenched with tears and widowed women's woe 

In the long wail of cloistered sorrow heard. 
Man at a cry be made furious and grim 

With scent of blood and smoke of bursting shell ; 
Dead faces on a field upturned to Him, 

And spirits flown — to Heaven or to Hell? 



Smoke, like the fumes from Hell's own caldron curled; 

Men schooled to murder at a bugle's blare ; 
Emblems of empire from a staff unfurled. 

Blades drawn from scabbards, bidden slay nor spare. 
Man and his brother, Man, the tie forgot. 

Each with his eye light with the lust of Cain; 
Blood, as the breech of belching cannon, hot 

Leaping to splash the battled hill or plain. 



154 



Night ! And long trenches with the dead thick laid. 

Sleep ! And wan beacons flaring in the sky. 
Rest ! Claims a truce the blood-incrusted blade. 

Dreams ! Of the dead and those so soon to die. 
Hark ! 'Tis the bugle ! And, with bloody hands, 

Sleep greets the dawn and Murder comes from bed ! 
Lives are the ancient sacrifice of Lands. 

Vainglory heaps her altar fires with dead. 



155 



AIRCASTLETOWN 

A TRUCE to thy struggling, poor mortal who 
strives ; 
A rest to thy efforts poor, hungering soul ; 
Come, Need, cast away all thy harrowing gyves, 
And, Sorrow, I'll take thee where dreams are made 
whole. 
Here in the dim twilight we'll sit by and dream; 

Our fancies stray far as the light thistledown, 
For, red as the sunrise, the golden rays gleam 
Over there on the hilltops, near Aircastletown. 



Ah, light as the leaf on the wandering breeze 

We'll float in our dreams from these sorrows away; 
Where fruit of fulfillment is ripe on the trees 

And sunlight of hope never dims night or day. 
So here at the twilight we'll float with the tide 

Of ungoverned fancy, nor borrow a frown 
From the face of tomorrow, but carelessly glide 

Down the stream of our dreamings to Aircastletown. 



156 



AIRCASTLETOWN 

My cottage a palace, my palace a King's, 

All peopled with dreams by some magic come true; 
My wicket a drawbridge that never once swings 

At the summons of Care — and, ah, best of all. You ! 
A fig for the cares that beset me the day, 

The smile of fulfillment swift conquers my frown, 
For the sails of my dreams to the winds dip away 

And I'm ofif for a journey to Aircastletown. 

What seek ye? Some treasure by Caprice denied? 

What would ye? Some toy Fate might find thee 
with ease? 
What ask ye? Some fair wind and flood of the tide 

To bring home thy argosy, far on the seas ? 
Then truce to thy dreamings — come journey with me, 

On wings fine and airy as light thistledown. 
And here at the twilight come sit, dream, and see 

Thy longings come true there in Aircastletown. 



157 



A REALLY PRETTY GIRL 

T HAVE traveled alien countries (through the medium 

of books) 
I have seen (in photogravures) Italy's sunburnished 

skies ; 
I've had (stereoptic) visions of cliff-bounded mountain 

brooks, 
And the camera has brought me where Killarney's 

splendor lies. 
In the biograph exhibits I have trodden courts of kings, 
To the ends of earth (in lectures) I have let my 

senses whirl, 
And it all one sage conclusion to my comprehension 

brings : 
There is nothing half as splendid as a really pretty 

girl. 



158 



A REALLY PRETTY GIRL 

I have seen (in scenic albums) all the gardens of the 
East, 
I have been (in dreams fantastic) where the tropic 
breezes blow, 
I have watched (in moving pictures) where Niagara 
like yeast 
Frothed above its splendid chasm and upon the rocks 
below. 
By the banks of the Euphrates (done on canvas) I have 
strolled, 
In the valley of Yosemite seen scenic glories whirl 
In kaleidoscopic splendor, but when all the tale is told, 
There is nothing half as splendid as a really pretty 
girl. 

When Nature did the firmament and splashed the som- 
bre skies 
With the splendor of the dawning; when she set the 
moon and stars 
As the jewels in the crown of Night and with her gor- 
geous dyes 
Made glorious the garden where the nodding flowers 
are. 
She had in mind a vision far beyond the dreams of 
kings, 
A tingling inspiration that set every sense a-whirl 
So after she had practiced on these quite imperfect 
things 
She set to work and fashioned us a really pretty girl. 



159 



DREAMS 

T F the iceman should come to me some day, 
While weighing out a piece at my back door, 

And, dropping it upon the porch, would say: 
"It was so cold last year and year before, 
The crop is long and we have cut the price" — 
If he should just say that and lay the ice 
On my back steps and then drive on — but hush ! 
Such dreams as this are only silly gush. 



Or if the butcher, wrapping up my steak, 

Should say : "You know, the corn crop was so vast, 
And feed so cheap, we're able now to make 
A slight reduction in the price at last" — 
I say, if he should tell me that and take 
Two cents a pound from last week's price of steak, 
I wonder if the shock — but pshaw ! why spare 
The time to build such castles in the air? 



160 



• DREAMS 

Or if the baker, doling out my bread, 

Should put a penny back into my hand, 
And say : "The world will be more cheaply fed, 
Since there is a large wheat crop in the land" — 
I say, if he should voluntarily 
Return a single penny unto me, 
I wonder if I'd be — ^but, Heart, be still ; 
There is no possibility he will ! 

Or if my tailor, deftly sizing me 

For a new suit, should say: "You know that sheep 
Are multiplying fast and wool will be 
In cloth upon the market very cheap" — 
I say, if he should just say that and take 
Five dollars from the price — well, then, I'd wake 
Right up and rub my sleepy eyes and laugh. 
To think of tailors giving me such chaff. 



161 



DREAMS 

I know that these are merely dreams — that ice 
And meat and bread are going up — that crop 
Or weather will do naught but raise the price : 
There is no likelihood of any drop ; 
But my employer tells me he will give 
Me higher wage — it costs so much to live — 
So now I do not need to skimp and scratcli- 
My pipe is out ! Has any one a match .•' 



162 



A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY 

V^yHEN the Circle's fair was ended we had forty dol- 
lars net, 
An' the members of the Circle had been duly called an' 

met 
To agree on how to spend it for the glory of the cause, 
All' agreeable to custom an' the Circle's rules an' laws. 



Sister Sarah Newton Tarbox thought it orto go to pay 
On the minister's back salary, an' Sarah had her say 
Until Sister Marthy Colby p'inted out it wouldn't do 
Under subdivision sixty-six of chapter twenty-two. 

Sister Sarah, squelched, set silent, an' she wouldn't say 
a word, 

Save thet now an' then, sarcastic, to the Circle she re- 
ferred 

To the heathen, fat an' lazy, in a far-off furrin' clime. 

An' the preacher outen flour more'n half the mortal 
tim?. 



163 



A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY 

Sister Prudence Wilson Connors humbly ventured to 

suggest 
Thet the minister was needin' of a Sunday coat an' vest, 
An' we argyed it, prayerful, till the whole plan was 

knocked out 
By a leetle p'int of order raised by Sister Susan Stout. 

Sister Prudence set there thoughtful through the foller- 

in' debate, 
With her Christian sperrit ruffled, an' allowed she orto 

state 
Fer the clearin' of her conscience thet she would n't 

oncet demur 
If we threw it in the river, it was all the same to her. 

Sister Amy Ellen Droppers thought the money sh'u'd be 

lent 
To some needy soul an' honest at a moderate per cent., 
But the by-laws of the Circle, so said Sister Sophy 

Squeer, 
On the plan of lendin' money wa'n't exactly plain an' 

clear. 



164 



A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY 

Sister Amy Ellen hinted she had nothin' more t' say 
On the plan thet she suggested ef the law stood in the 

way, 
But she said it was a pity the committee on expense 
Had n't framed the Circle's by-laws in accord with 

common sense. 

Sister Evalina Spriggins said she thought it plain to see 
What a Furrin' Mission Circle's bounden duty orto be, 
An' she couldn't see how preachers of the Sperrit was 

to roam 
With the Furrin Mission Circles spendin' money here at 

home. 

At which Sister Phoebe Lucy Brown arose, an', summat 

het. 
Said she guessed she knew her duty, an' she didn't 

choose to set 
An' hear a sister hintin' in a most onchristian way 
Thet the Furrin Mission Circle was a-goin' fur astrav ! 



165 



A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY 

An' then Sister Spriggins told her thet she had n't 

meant no slur 
On the Fiirrin Mission Circle an', leastwise of all, at 

her. 
Said she knew thet Sister Phoebe knew her business, it 

was true, 
An' she 'd heerd she knew most everybody else's busi* 

ness, too. 

Then good Sister Patience Hitchcock said the Circle 
better burn 

Every cent of it than quarrel, an' she motioned to ad- 
journ 

At which Sister Ellen Jackson riz up slowly on her feet 

An' declared there was an error in the Circle's balance- 
sheet. 



'Stid o' havin' forty dollars over all the fair's expense 
She had found we had a deficit of sixty-seven cents. 
She had got her figgers crosswise when she added up 

her sheets 
An' had put expended items in the columns o' receipts ! 



166 



A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY 

So with harmony prevaiHn' Sister Spriggins led in 

prayer, 
An' Sister Phoebe Lncy Brown observed to Sister 

Blair 
Thet we 're all poor, mortal creeters, who don't seem 

to understand 
How the good Lord holds us, helpless, in the holler of 

his hand ! 



167 



THE DEATH OE POETRY 

(There is no demand for poetry, according to one of 
the greatest of international publishers. — Daily Paper.) 

T AY her and her muted lyre 

Here together on this pyre. 
And the laurels she has won, 
Lay them, lay them, one by one 
As a pillow for her head. 
Who lies here, forlorn and dead. 



None to mourn her, none to praise. 
Homer loved her in his days ; 
Sappho struck the lyre of her, 
Petrarch was her worshipper. 
Virgil, Dante — all are mute. 
Hers a split and silenced lute. 



168 



THE DEATH OF POETRY 

Burns her erring child and poor, 
Byron wooed her and did Moore 
From her happiest moods beguile 
Sweetness in a worded smile. 
And where subtle Shelley slept 
She paused once an hour — and wept. 

Regal, beautiful, she stood 
In her glorious goddesshood, 
Bade Shakespeare, her child to be 
By her own divinity 
Half-godlike, and where she trod 
Hallowed man and worshipped God. 

By vagrant stream and eerie wood 
She wandered with the merry Hood. 
Piped her pastoral lays oft were 
With Goldsmith as interpreter, 
And Whitman knew her dreamy days. 
And went with her up mountain ways. 



22 169 



THE DEATH OF POETRY 

When gloomy Poe her favor sued, 

She listened and she understood. 

Holmes claimed her joyous presence oft, 

And Bryant knew her in her soft 

And gracious whiles, and Whittier 

In green fields would walk with her. 

A minister to grief, she moved 
By many wooed, yet few she loved, 
And those she best beloved, she lent 
Her grandeur of the firmament. 
Of seas and skies and subtle arts, 
Of love and grief and human hearts. 



Here upon the funeral pyre 
Lay her and her muted lyre. 
Know ye, mourners at her bier, 
'Tis a goddess that lies here. 
And above ye all as far 
As the weeping angels are. 



170 



THE LAST APPEAL 



T^ OR her sake I will woo thee, 
Oh, Fortune, and sue thee 

For peace ; I will bow thee my arrogant pride. 
For her sake I will bend thee 
My head, and will lend the 

My struggles again what thy caprice betide. 



Think not that I fear thee ! 
Myself, I would jeer thee 

And bid thee defiance to do what it please 
Thee to do; but to render 
To her what the tender 

Heart's love of me bids, I will crook thee my knees. 

I come not to woo thee 
For fame, or to sue thee. 

But only as pleader for her when I see 
Her so crushed in her spirit; 
Ah, jade — thou must hear it, 

The prayer that goes from me to heaven — and thee. 



171 



THE LAST APPEAL 

Think not I am pleading 
For self; were I bleeding 

And battered thy minions should still taste my sword ; 
But, ah ! 'Tis not human 
To withhold from woman 

The little she craves, when by woman adored. 

Not wealth beyond measure, 
Not gold of thy treasure, 

But, ah! just enough of thy goodness to lay 
Before her, and reaping 
My joy in her weeping 

Of pride in my conquest, find comfort today. 

So for her sake I woo thee, 
Again I will sue thee, 

For her sake I come and I fawn like a cur 
Begging food; but remember 
My last ashing ember 

Shall hate thee — but still I will woo thee — for her! 



172 



IHI 



St 



A S4^ 
















"oV 




'h'9 



» »°-^<*.. V 




>- '^^..^^ /Ji^\ v/ /^v^^- ^- -^ 



v*^^ 

.5^^^. 






^^^^ 



A^"-. 








> A 




*°-n*i. V 







•^^<^ 


















'.' .^^^^^. 












o ^ 



% 






















^ 6^"-. 










0' •I*"' '^^ v^ 









HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. |§ 

# DEC 88 
N. MANCHESTER 
INDIANA 46962 







